


The Dragon, the Stallion and the Lion

by RiverWitch1980



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverWitch1980/pseuds/RiverWitch1980
Summary: A different story for Daenerys. Rhaego lives and is the Stallion that Mounts the World.This will center primarily on Dany and Rhaego but other characters will eventually make appearances. Cersei's perspective will come in as well but it will be mostly Dany.
Relationships: Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

After many months of wandering the grasslands, Dany’s time was near. Her stomach was tight and swollen, and the oils Irri and Jihqui poured on her and rubbed into her skin did little to soothe it. Each day Doreah brought Dany figs, dried horsemeat, and mare’s milk, but she could only eat the figs. Sometimes Doreah or Irri would bring her goat, or other animals or fruits, and those she could eat. 

One morning as Drogo was caressing and kissing her belly, pressure gripped her middle, as if he had laid himself over her. She opened her eyes and sat up, but he was still next to her. 

“What is it, Moon of My Life?” he asked, eyes wide. 

“It is our son. I think, oh!” She paused and squinted as the pressure returned. “I think he’s going to come today.”

Drogo sat up and called for his bloodrider. 

“Wait, wait,” Dany said, touching his arm. “Not just yet.” 

“Moon of My Life, we must call for the midwife.”

Qotho peered through the tent opening. Drogo growled an order to him and he disappeared without a word. 

Drogo helped Dany up and embraced her. “The Stallion that Mounts the World comes today,” he said, smiling. “I leave you with your maids and the midwife. I must go and bring you back a deer, to nourish you and our son. 

“Come back soon, my Son and Stars. I will need you.” 

Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah stayed by her side all day, helping her in and out of her bath, putting cool rags on her face, while the midwife urged Dany to eat. She wanted nothing but water. When twilight was darkening the earth, and the stars began to wink to life in the heavens, Dany called out for the midwife. Mirri and Doreah took Dany’s slippery hands and helped her out of the bath again. 

“I want to go outside.” 

The midwife rolled up a hide from the floor and she and the maids followed Danaerys out into the night. Dany had only taken a few steps when her waters broke. “Ah…” Dany exhaled long and steady, pursing her lips. 

“Here, Khaleesi,” the midwife said, spreading out the hide. 

Irri and Jhiqui stood on either side of Dany and the midwife knelt in front of her as she stood on the hide. Mirri bent and peered between Dany’s legs. 

“He comes now, Khaleesi,” bend your knees. Irri and Jhiqui each took one of Dany’s hands as she squatted, leaning against them. 

The pressure had been great, coming and going rythmically throughout the day. Now waves of it came almost one on top of the other, and Danaerys knew Rhaego was ready when her body began to push him out. She gritted her teeth and bore down.

“Good, Khaleesi, push now.” 

“You are almost there, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said, squeezing her hand. 

“Yes, your son has a good, strong mother. He is ready to meet you,” Irri said. 

Danaerys squeezed her maid’s hands, gripped the hide with her toes, and bore down again. Rhaego came sliding from her womb into Mirri’s waiting hands. 

“Here he is, your son,” the midwife said, lifting the squalling, red infant up and handing him to her. 

Dany’s throat tightened as she took him and put him on her breast, while Irri and Jhiqui guided her down to sit on the hide. “Look how beautiful he is,” Dany said, gazing at him. It was almost too dark to tell, but his eyes were the same Targaryen Violet as hers. He settled against her, his cries turning to whimpers and grunts as he rooted between her breasts. 

“He needs to nurse, now, Khaleesi,” the midwife said, adjusting him in Dany’s arms, cupping his head and putting his nose next to her nipple. He turned at once and latched on. 

“Oh!” 

Mirri smiled, showing gappy, crooked teeth. “He has a strong suck. The Stallion That Mounts the World is powerful already, Khaleesi.”

“Ah! He used to kick and push against my ribs until I thought they would crack. Now he sees fit to mangle me and suck me dry.”

“He is very strong, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said, sitting next to her and stroking the babe’s arm. “See how big he is?”

“I… Is he big?” She looked down at her son, slippery with the blood and fluid of her womb. Her chest and arms were smeared with it now as well. Growing up as a beggar, running from one place to another, she had only seen babies in passing. Viserys her only constant, she’d never had any friends or family but him. But now, smelling the top of Rhaego’s fuzzy head, feeling the warmth of his body against her, she felt like he’d always been there, part of her. 

“He is, Khaleesi. And strong. Babies that are restless in their mothers grow up to be the fiercest warriors, it is known.”

“Yes,” Irri said, “and the ones who scream and suckle day and night are the strongest. He will not be easy, Khaleesi.”

“I will love him anyway,” Dany said, kissing the top of his head and wincing as he clamped down on her nipple and bobbed his head against her teat. 

Drogo’s smile had nearly split his face when he returned to camp with a huge, striped, heavily antlered buck. That smile was one she’d never before seen. He scooped Rhaego off of her chest and held him up, close to his face. 

“Moon of my Life, what a warrior you have borne me! See the fire in his eyes!” 

Danaerys looked at her babe, his eyes wide and searching. His skin was a softer copper than his father’s, his hair a lighter brown, but the violet of his eyes belonged to Dany. 

She had eaten two bowls of stew made from the deer an hour later, relishing every bite, draining the bowl. Her maids, the midwife, and the wives of Drogo’s bloodriders attended her constantly, but still Rhaego gave her little rest. 

Irri was right, as Danaerys knew she would be. Rhaego was never easy. He squalled day and night, and even when her breasts were full and achy, he drained them, first one, then the other, until his belly was swollen. Sometimes he would drink until her breasts were soft and nearly empty, and cry for more. Those times she handed him off to Qotho’s wife to nurse and collapsed exhausted on a pile of cushions and fell into an instant, deep sleep. 

He cut his teeth after six months and after nine he was eating soft meat and boiled fruits. Finally Danearys had a small respite from his unceasing hunger. He came into the world wild and wailing, and his ferocity grew with him. It took Daenerys and all three of her maids to keep up with him once he began to walk. Though he ate nearly as much meat as Dany, he still suckled with unceasing vigor. At meals, Drogo’s bloodriders would look on, smiles twitching the corners of their mouths, eyebrows raised as Dany tried to contain the toddler once he was finished eating. 

Rhaego resisted the discipline of his parents, the maids, and Drogo’s bloodriders alike. He did not scream and thrash, as some of the other toddlers in the khalasar did. Every rebuke earned a double effort to continue whatever it was he wanted to do. If Dany took from him a sharp stick, he found it again. If she shooed him away from a horse’s feet, he went back, until Dany dragged him away, struggling mightily. He ran to the horse yet again, but Quotho took hold of Dany’s arm as she reached for Rhaego. 

“See how the horse moves away from him. Even the beast recognizes him for who he is.”

Rhaego moved in and out between the stallion’s legs, and though moments ago the horse had been stamping and bellowing challenges, he stood still. Rhaego came from between his front legs and stood looking up, and the horse lowered his face and sniffed the top of the babe’s head. Dany gasped but Quotho tightened his grip. 

Rhaego grasped the edge of the horse’s nostril, chuckling, but the stallion merely twitched his head to escape Rhaego’s grasp, and lowered it again, his breath ruffling Rhaego’s mop of light brown hair. 

“He’s barely past his first Nameday, and even Drogo’s stallion submits to him,” Dany said, looking at Quotho. 

Neither could fire strike fear in her fierce son. At 18 months, he no longer toddled, but walked boldly up to the flames. When Dany had tired of bringing him back from the edge of the fire, Drogo pulled him away. Rhaego did not cry, but leaned forward, wriggling, until he broke free of his father’s grasp. He fell forward and Drogo’s harsh yell filled the tent as he reached out for the child. 

Rhaego’s hands landed in the flames. Dany rushed to him and swept him up into her arms, but Rhaegoonly laughed and patted her face. She pulled his hands away and held them in front of her. She gasped softly as she inspected his palms; soft, pink, unburnt. She turned to see Drogo’s eyes wide, his mouth agape. 

“He is the blood of the dragon.” Dany smiled at Drogo as she kissed Rhaego’s unharmed hands. 

Drogo murmured softly as Dany brought Rhaego back to their cushions, where he sat smiling and gnawing on a bone. 

“He defies everything. How are we to contain him?” Drogo stroked the boy’s head.

“My Sun and Stars, I do not think we can. He contains everything. Man, beast, fire. How could we expect to tame the Stallion that Mounts the World? Everything is bending to his wishes already.”

Soon after Rhaego reached his second Nameday, Dany’s maids urged her to stop giving him her milk. He still went to her breasts with every meal, and often in between. 

“You will not bear another child until the boy lets you rest,” Irri told her one day as Rhaego suckled, giving Irri a dark look. “It is known.” 

“How am I to stop him? He takes whatever he wishes.”

“Khaleesi, do you not want another child?”

“Is this one not enough? How am I to look after another when this one is already too much?”

“The next one won’t be the same. Rhaego has made you a mother. Make him a brother.”

“What about a sister?” 

Rhaego pulled away from Dany, giggling, babbling in Dothraki. “Sister, sister, sister,” he said, wandering away and picking up a tortoise shell rattle full of tiny vertebrae. 

“See, he asks for one.” Irri grinned, showing her gleaming white teeth. “Go and tell your Khal that you desire a daughter.”

Drogo laughed at Dany when she told him what Irri said. “Moon of my Life, am I not taking you often enough?” He reached across their sleeping son and stroked the side of her breast. “We will have another when our little king allows it.” He ruffled the already thick hair of Rhaego’s head. 

“King?” Dany had never heard Drogo speak anything but Dothraki. 

“That is what he shall be. He is heir to all the world, does that not include your western kingdom?” 

“Well, yes,” Dany said, rubbing Rhaego’s back as it rose and fell with his long, deep breaths. “But I never thought to hear you speak Valeryian.”

“Did you not think that I would learn something along with my son? I want to know what he knows, and I listen when you speak to him.” 

“My Son and Stars, you are always surprising me,” Dany said, rising carefully so as not to wake their sleeping master. She took Drogo’s hand and led him out of the tent, under the vast sky and infinite stars. “Let us see if we can make a daughter.” Dany let her shift puddle at her feet and tugged down Drogo’s leather leggings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaego is growing, siblings are following him, and something sinister has made its way across the Dothraki sea

Rhaego was well past his third nameday when his sister entered the world. 

Rhaena slipped into the midwife’s hands as easily as her brother, but she came out of Dany gently, and did not tear her as Rheago had. Her cries were soft, her hair lighter than her brother’s, her eyes the same violet as Rhaego’s had been. 

Now Rhaego’s eyes were brown most of the time. Dany only glimpsed the Targaryen violet when her son was defied. The last time she’d seen it was when Rhaego had fallen off his golden mare. 

The filly was the get of her own silver and Drogo’s chestnut stallion, wilder even than her sire, with little of the gentleness of her dam. None could ride Vorri, but Rhaego leapt onto her back from a large boulder while she grazed. She squealed and crow hopped, dumping him in a hassock. 

Dany was heavy with her daughter, and could not run to Rhaego, but she rarely ran to him anymore. She chuckled as she watched her son get up and march back to the horse. 

“Gentle, now, my prince,” she called to him in high Valerian. He spoke Dothraki, but understood her high Valerian, and Ser Jorah’s common tongue. He ripped up a handful of grass from the clump he’d fallen in and offered it to Vorri. She took it and resumed grazing while Rhaego stroked her shoulder. He’d been riding from the time he could walk, but never on his own, always sat in front of Dany or Drogo. He’d claimed the golden mare as his own moments after her birth. 

He’d been just as enamored with his sister when she was born. Dany had feared he would be jealous, but instead he hovered over Rhaena, brushing away flies that dared to land upon her, and wrapping his arms around her when she slept. 

Rhaena had little of her brother’s ferocity. Sometimes her cries were so soft that Dany didn’t hear them, and would wake to Rhaego placing the infant at her breast, speaking softly. His eyes were violet then, the only time other than when he was angered. 

“What a good brother you are.” Dany smiled and stroked his head.   
Rhaego returned her smile and patted his sister’s back, humming. “She is blood of my blood.” 

“Do you think my milk is enough for her?” Dany asked Quotho’s wife when the babe was six months old. Rhaena suckled while they sat on a mat, watching Drogo give Rhaego an archery lesson. 

“Of course, Khaleesi. She how fat she grows?” Haji tickled Rhaena’s plump thigh. “You must not compare her to The Stallion that Mounts the World. He is not like any other child I have seen.”

They watched as Drogo handed Rhaego an arrow. “He already shoots like a warrior. He never misses,” the maid said.

“Good!” Drogo said, clapping Rhaego on the back when his arrow struck the center of a grass-stuffed hide. “You are ready to do it from horseback now.”

Rhaego ran to Dany, grinning. 

“Well done my prince.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. 

“One day I will teach you, little sister,” Rhaego said, rubbing noses with Rhaena. She gave him a throaty laugh that was his alone, her eyes, still violet, sparkling. She reached for him as he trotted away, back to his father, who held Vorri’s bridle. The boy swung himself up onto her back and reached down for his bow. 

Daenerys nuzzled Rhaena’s head while she watched Rhaego hit the center of every target as he flew by at a full gallop. Vorri’s ears were pinned and Dany could see the whites of the mare’s eyes as she passed, but without even a word, Rhaego had her whirling back, and struck home again on every target. Drogo raised his hand and at a murmur from Rhaego, Vorri stopped lightly, and Rhaego alit with the grace of an eagle. 

“It seems I have little to teach this one,” Drogo said, his mouth set. Rhaego reached for his sister and Daenerys handed her to him. Rhaego lifted her, laughing, and twirled in a circle. Rhaena’s delighted giggles mixed with Rhaego’s. 

“My Son and Stars, do not worry.” Dany smiled and wrapped her arms around Drogo’s neck. “He still has far to go to eclipse you. Even the Stallion that Mounts the World needs his father.”

The older Rhaego grew, the more his need of Drogo was for guidance rather than teaching. The boy mastered every skill presented to him within a day. His love for Drogo was the fuel of respect for him. An aura of power surrounded, preceded, and followed him everywhere he went. He wasn’t yet as strong as Drogo, but he would be much sooner than anyone had anticipated. 

Only Dany could sense Drogo’s unease at the boy’s growing prowess. Rhaego danced next to the fire with Rhaena while Dany ran her fingers through Drogo’s beard, oiling it. His eyes were on the children, his brow furrowed.

“My Sun and Stars, what troubles you?” 

Drogo grunted, and Dany took his chin in her hands and turned him to face her. “He is the Stallion, but you will always be his father. He will always listen to you.”

Drogo’s eyes turned from the sight of Rhaego holding his sister. “He will be too strong for me before he grows a beard. Already his head stands taller than my waist. He will be beyond my control before he has the experience a warrior needs.”

Rhaego was barely past his sixth nameday when he went on his first raid with Drogo. Rhaena had passed her third, and Dany’s belly was round and full again. She feared their third child would arrive before the two of them returned. 

Though she had her maids, Jorah, and Rhaena, Dany’s heart pained her day and night while Drogo and Rhaego were gone. She often woke whimpering from nightmares, Rhaena caressing her cheeks softly, her amethyst eyes wide and brow furrowed. “Mama, what is it?” 

“Oh, my sweet princess, my world is dark without my Son and Stars, and your brother.”

“I know, Mama, I miss them too. Rhaego promised to bring me a kitten. I hope he gets one.” 

“We shall see them soon, I hope.” 

When they returned, Dany presented them with a squalling infant. Drogo named him Temmo. 

His return, coupled with the birth of Temmo, sparked a celebration that lasted a fortnight. Dany heard over and over the stories of Rhaego’s ferocity, so many times that she began to feel as if she had been there. Her heart fluttered as she thought of him spattered in the enemy’s blood, and her stomach turned when the other warriors praised him for his success. She turned away from those thoughts, but when she looked in Rhaego’s eyes, she saw a different boy. 

Dany nearly forgot her worries when Drogo took her outside of their tent and rediscovered her. His hands ran softly over the curves of her body, over her thigh, across her stomach, up to the swell of her milky breast. His beard tickled her neck as he whispered in her ear, his hands still stroking. The warmth of his body against hers awakened her need for him. Temmo had come only weeks ago, but Drogo’s gentle touch stoked her fire. It had never taken long after birth for her desire to return. Drogo was always careful with her during those times, handling her as carefully as he did their offspring. 

Their reunion was brief, with Dany eager to get back to the tent and her infant. “My Son and Stars,” she said, trailing her hand lightly across the curve of Drogo’s chest. “What is it that has changed our son?”

“He is a warrior now, Moon of my Life.” The firelight flickered across his furrowed brow.

“I did not know I would see my little boy become a man so soon.” 

“He is the Stallion. He needed no guidance. He lead the war party.”

Temmo’s head was soft under Dany’s nuzzling caress, the life pulsing through it beneath her lips. “Will this one be the same?”

“No, there is only one Stallion.”

By the time Rhaego passed his eigth nameday, he had been on four more raids. His body was sinew and muscle, and though he was far too young for a beard, his braid hung past his waist. Dany had a hard time telling the difference between him and Drogo by the sound of their bells.

Rhaena cherished the kitten that Rhaego brought her almost as much as she cherished her brothers. Black with emerald eyes, Ziggi followed Rhaena everywhere, when she wasn’t perched on her shoulder. Rhaena scolded Temmo softly when he pulled Ziggi’s tail, but the babe only chuckled and gurgled. 

Temmo was learning to ride atop Vorri’s withers, sat in front of Rhaego. Rhaena rode behind them, with Ziggi perched atop her mare’s hindquarters, their blackness blending so that the cat nearly disappeared. 

Irri’s nearly silent footsteps approaching did nothing to distract Dany from the riding lesson. 

“Khaleesi.”

“Yes?” Dany did not take her eyes from the children. 

“Whispers have reached me. I do not bring good news.”  
That was enough to tear Dany’s attention away, even as Vorri picked up a trot at some unseen queue from Rhaego. Though he was barely past his second nameday, Temmo held his arms out.

“What whispers?”

“The Westerosi queen is fearful of our little stallion. She plots against him.”

Dany swallowed hard. “How do you know this? Where do these whispers come from?”

“Slaves taken on the last raid. Some of them have been past the Dothraki sea. They have been to the markets, talked to the Westerosi who cross the poison water from Pentos.”

“They would not make it across the Dothraki sea. Those Westerosi cannot live on grass.” She meant to sound strong, but her voice cracked on the last word, as she watched Rhaego, cantering now. Temmo’s joyful cry carried over the tall grass. Rhaena’s mare galloped to catch up, her gait so smooth that Ziggi stayed nearly still, his body rocking with the horse. 

“The poison water and the Dothraki sea have long protected us, Khaleesi, but the little Stallion is powerful already. Those in the west do not love us, it is known.”

They love me even less. They chased me from my home and even the vast plains cannot hide me. “Am I the first to hear this?”

“Quotho has told the Khal.” 

“I will speak to him of it. Thank you Irri.” 

That night, Drogo grunted and tossed the bone he’d picked clean aside when Dani told him her fears. 

“They are weak, Moon of My Life. If they get across the sea of grass, there will be few left. Rhaego would take them all himself.” 

“Do you think that it would please me to see my son fighting an army?” 

Drogo chuckled. “No more than it would please me.” He took her hand and with his other stroked her arm. “Put the dragon in your heart back to sleep. Our son is as fearsome as any grown warrior. He wields arakhs in each hand, slashing through the enemy like a man. He needs no protecting, even now.”

“How can that be?”   
Rhaego ran through the tall grass outside the mouth of their tent, Temmo on his shoulders, his sister and her cat chasing them. Though large and well-muscled, he still looked more boy than man. 

“He is The Stallion. He grows almost as fast, and he’s twice as bold.” Drogo pulled her close. “And the blood of dragons runs in his veins,” he whispered, his forehead against hers. “It is your blood as much as mine that makes him what he is.” 

Dany had nearly forgotten Irri’s warning a year later. What Quotho brought back from the Dothraki sea pushed the Westerosi from her mind completely. He galloped into the camp, his horse’s legs sliding under him as he came to a stop. Half the tribe were out, and all stopped and turned toward the cloud of dust that surrounded him. Drogo strode into the middle of it. 

When the dust cleared, the head of the most vile creature she’d ever seen dangled by it’s stringy hair from Quotho’s saddle. Even Drogo paled at the sight of it. “What thing is this?” he growled. 

“An other.” Dany clutched her chest, her breath gone. 

“Mama?” Temmo’s laughing voice met her just as he wrapped his arms around her leg. 

“Go, my little prince,” she said, prying him off. “I saw your lizard running off into those bushes. You’d better hurry!” Temmo ran off after the creature. It was his prize possession, given to him by Rhaego who brought it back from a raid. 

“Where did you find this?” Dany asked.

“Staggering through the grass sea. It came at me like a lion, hissing and growling. It’s body moved even after I took its head.”

“You didn’t leave it there?” Dany’s heart dropped as her voice rose. 

Quotho frowned and looked to Drogo.

Drogo held a hand up and he and Quotho spoke in low, growling voices. 

Dany’s hands balled into fists at her sides, but she dared not challenge Drogo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new enemy has found its way across the Dothraki Sea

Dany had not forgotten about the wight when the soldiers arrived, though the rest of the Dothraki seemed to. For months she had ridden her Silver, searching the grasslands, seeing nothing at all, but never taking that as proof that they were out of danger. Her anxiety heightened at every raid, and when Drogo came back with his bloodriders showing the scars of battle, she feared it was the Others who inflicted the wounds. 

“The Andahli have tried to cross the Dothraki sea,” Drogo told her as he dismounted. Dany reached for Rhaego, now past his eleventh nameday, and looking more man every day. He squeezed her shoulder as he passed her, scooping up five-year-old Temmo and throwing him so high over his head that Dany gasped. Temmo squealed and laughed. Rhaena came running from the tent, Ziggi loping behind her. The cat leapt to her shoulder when she stopped in front of Rhaego. 

“Me next!” she said, holding her arms out to Rhaego. Dany expected him to deny her. Though slight, and shorter than he, Rhaena was still much heavier than Temmo, but Rhaego grabbed under her armpits and lifted her, flinging her nearly as high as Temmo. Ziggi flew from her shoulder as she launched and landed atop Vorri’s hindquarters. The mare pinned her ears and snaked her head back, but the cat answered with a growl and ear-pinning of her own, refusing to move. 

“The Westerosi?” Dany looked from Drogo to Quotho, who bore long, red streaks of dried blood along his right and left arms. Superficial wounds, already healing. 

Drogo reached for her with a hand and arm caked with dried blood, but when she examined it, she found no wounds. His leggings and vest were spattered as well, and his stallion. All enemy blood. 

“My Sun and Stars, how many? Are there any left?”

“They were weak, and few. We left none alive.” 

“Why would they do such a thing? They could not expect to defeat even a small Khalasar with so few.”

Drogo’s mouth twitched, the lopsided smile he always wore after an easy defeat. “Moon of my Life, they may have come with a larger army, but lost many on the way.”

“Still, it seems a waste to me.” 

His smug smile still in place, Drogo wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, her breath leaving her as she collided with him. “It doesn’t matter, Khaleesi.”

It did matter. Within a week, sickness was taking hold of the Khalasar. 

Doreah entered Dany’s tent in the morning, eyes wide. “Khaleesi, the raiders are taking fever.” 

Dany’s hand shot to her chest, her throat tightened. “Let me see,” she said, rushing out of the tent and following her. 

The maid led her to another tent, but she stopped outside. One of the raider’s wives stood next to the opening. Her face was blank, but the vein in her neck stood out, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She relaxed them when she saw Dany, but the crease between her eyes deepened. 

“We cannot go in, Khaleesi,” Doreah said, taking Dany’s arm as she reached for the flap. 

Dany stepped back and swallowed hard. The wife reached for the flap and opened it. Doreah pulled Dany a step back as she leaned forward to peer inside.   
“Not close, Khaleesi.”

The men lay around the fire, covered in hides, sweat glistening on their foreheads and shoulders. Some writhed, some slept, some stared at nothing, eyes glazed. Dany gasped, choked down the knot in her throat. Taking her arm from Doreah’s grasp, she turned and ran. 

Doreah followed her to the edge of the encampment, where she found Drogo and Rhaego, sorting their share of plunder from the royal army. 

“Don’t touch it!” she shrieked. 

Drogo looked up, frowning. Rhaego held a shirt of mail to his chest, but did not drop it at her cry. Drogo looked from Dany back to Rhaego and snatched the mail from him. He flung it aside and stood up. 

“What is it, Moon of my Life?”

“Fever!” she said, her voice strangled. 

“And flux,” Doreah said. “It is the pale mare.”

“The pale mare?” Dany whispered. She covered her mouth and sank to the ground at her maid’s feet. Drogo strode to her. 

“Why are you so troubled?” He pulled her to her feet. His grip was tight on her arm, his face close to hers. “A Khaleesi is strong, Moon of my Life,” his low voice still rang with authority in her ear. “Do not let them see weakness.” His eyes were on Doreah. 

Dany lifted her chin. “I will not.” She squared her shoulders and took Drogo’s forearms in her shaky grasp. “My Sun and Stars, I am strong. But this sickness strikes fear in me.”

Drogo took her chin and turned her face. She saw no fear in his eyes, so brown they were nearly black. 

“No fever can conquer the Dothraki.” he said.

“But this-” 

He squeezed her arms, harder this time. Dany shut her mouth and swallowed. She looked back to Rhaego. His lips made a hard line, but softened when she caught his eyes. Drogo dropped her arms and then took her left in both of his hands, stroking it where he had held it moments before. She pulled away from him and went to Rheago. 

He stood behind the pile of plunder. Hints of violet tinted his eyes, but no emotion showed in his face. Dany wrapped her arms around him and he allowed it, though he rarely did anymore. He dropped his head to her shoulder, his arms tight around her. Dany knew he was already taller than she, but she rarely got close to him anymore. Soon he would tower over her. His grip loosened, but she held on, raising her face slightly to look him in the eyes. His strength and size did nothing to lessen her maternal feelings. 

“Were any of the soldiers sick?” she asked, turning to Drogo. 

“All were weak. Some more than others.”

Dany allowed Rhaego to disengage from her. He started back to the treasure. “Daor.” Rhaego had never been obedient, but even said softly, her command in high Valyrian hit its mark. He changed course, took a step to the right and seemed to float onto Vorri’s back. The mare sprang forward and carried her son away at a gallop. 

“It must have come from them,” Dany said, turning back to Drogo. 

“You are right, Khaleesi. The Andalhi share the pale mare, it is known.” Dany jumped at Doreah’s voice. The maid stood at the edge of the encampment, where Dany had left her. 

“But how could they make it all the way? The sickness passes quickly, and most die within weeks.” Dany said. 

“There were many dead behind them,” Drogo said. Scouts followed their trail of dead to be sure that none were left alive.” 

“How far did they go?” Dany asked. 

“Far enough, Moon of my Life.” 

“Can I talk to them?” 

“Khaleesi,” Doreah’s hand gripped Dany’s shoulder. 

“There is no need for you to speak to them,” Drogo growled. 

“Come, Khaleesi,” Doreah said, pulling Dany by the arm. 

Dany strode ahead of Doreah, back to her own tent, scanning the horizon as she went for any sign of Rhaego, but Vorrhi had taken him beyond her sight. She ducked into the tent and sat on the hide spread out beside the dying fire. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. 

“Khaleesi, the Khal is the one who leads,” Doreah said, standing behind her. “His Khaleesi never questions him.”

“What am I to do? I have seen the flux, he has not.”

“There is nothing to do now, Khaleesi. You have seen the pale mare, but have you seen it stopped?”

Doreah was right. All Dany had ever seen the flux do was rage through cities. Those it struck either lived or died. The pale mare had come across the sea of grass and now there was nothing to do but wait and see who lived. Her eyes stung and she bit her tongue until the pain overpowered her fear. 

The times she’d seen it, she and Viserys hadn’t waited around to see how victims of the flux fared. They’d fled and left the dying behind. She’d seen enough, though. Men she’d known as strong and robust reduced to skin and bones, their lips cracked and bleeding, their complexions sallow, eyes sunken. 

Now she had to watch it happen. 

Every day more men went into the sick tent. Their wives left skins of water outside the flap, and then as the men weakened, just inside. The sick pushed the dead out, onto a waiting hide to be pulled out to the pyres constructed first weekly, then daily. The sick tent became two, then three. Drogo ordered the sick to the edge of the encampment. 

No matter how far out they moved the quarantine, the number of sick grew every day. Wives followed husbands into the separate encampment, sometimes after their deaths, sometimes dying with them. 

Every day was filled with dread. Dany woke with a sickness in her belly every morning, wondering if it was horror or flux. She could only eat a little, but she drank as usual. So far the sick feeling remained merely horror, but that grew until it nearly overwhelmed her. 

The grieving wives tore at her heart, but their suffering was short-lived. Soon they would follow their husbands in death. When their children took fever, the women of the Khalasar stayed in the quarantine with them, healthy or not. The dying children were more than Dany could stand. Every afternoon she disappeared on her Silver, riding far enough from the Khalasar that her sobbing would not be heard. 

Rhaena often tried to follow her, but Dany ordered her and Temmo to stay in the tent. The children were confined there day and night, save for when Dany and her maids took them out to play. At first they tried to run to their friends, calling for them, struggling to free themselves from Dany’s grasp, or Irri’s, or Jhiqui’s or Doreah’s. Dany left bruises once on Temmo’s arm. Four blue spots the size of her fingertips, marks of love rather than rage. He didn’t struggle with her after that. After a few weeks, most of their friends were sick or dead. 

Her maids never left her side now except to sleep in the tent next to hers. They were allowed no contact with anyone else. Dany’s efforts to slow the spread were in vain. Quotho took fever before two moons had turned. She begged Drogo to stay in the tent with her and the children. 

“Get up, woman,” Drogo said, his hands on her shoulders, lifting her as if she were a child. “The Dothraki are stronger than fever.”

She rose from her knees, but continued her pleading. “My Sun and Stars, I can’t bear the loss of you.” Tears flowed from her eyes but she had no more power to stop them. “You cannot leave me.”

“A khal never abandons his bloodriders.” 

“There is nothing you can do!” Dany dropped to her knees again. “Your arakhs and bows cannot fight the pale mare. You cannot protect your bloodriders from this.” 

Drogo grunted and shook her off, leaving her alone in the tent. 

Even now, I have no control over what happens to me. For the past 12 years, Dany thought she was free. Free of Viserys, free of pursuit by the usurper and his dogs. That freedom was an illusion. Loving the one in control of her life didn’t make her any freer than she ever had been. Maybe less. No chains bound her but the ones of love and obedience. She could not and did not want to break the love that bound her to Drogo. The yoke of the way of the Dothraki could never be lifted from her shoulders as long as she lived with them. There is no freedom, there is only the choice to embrace the tethers. 

Dany received news of the sick and dead through her maids. She watched them as they spoke to the wives coming and going from the sick camp. She felt like a tyrant, following them to make sure that they did not get too close, but the maids only got as close as they needed to hear what they needed to. Dany’s fear of getting sick overpowered her need to be a benevolent leader. 

Cohollo was the next to take fever. Quotho still struggled. Dany could smell the sickness reeking in the pits behind the sick encampment. Sometimes she caught glimpses of the sick on the edges of the pits, heard their retching, or worse. Always, piteous moans, grunts and cries came from the ever-growing quarantine. She knew which sound belonged to man, woman and child.   
Dany awoke drenched in sweat. Relief washed over her as she realized she’d been dreaming. In the dream, a fire raged through the camp. Dany raced from tent to tent, trying to find her children. Every flap she opened was another dying Dothraki, but none were her children. Drogo was lost, and the Khalasar was in chaos as others ran about, looking for their own families. 

Still feeling the heat from her dream, she threw off the hides she slept under. Drogo moaned. Dany reached for him and her skin turned to ice. He was the fire.


End file.
